


Kings and Fathers

by JM_Winters



Series: Mirrored Frustrations [1]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23794792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JM_Winters/pseuds/JM_Winters
Summary: King Harrow lived as a father and died a kingAvizandum lived as a king and died a father
Relationships: Avizandum | Thunder/Zubeia, Harrow/Sarai (The Dragon Prince)
Series: Mirrored Frustrations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714273
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Harrow: Beloved father, Remorseful King

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been sitting on these for a while, I’ll be honest. These were written as an exercise in me trying to break through what has been a series of constant writer’s block that breaks down then builds back up. Rinse. Repeat. Then quarantine happened and since I’ve been doing yet another rewrite of an original project that hit some stumbling blocks again, I figured I’d dust these off and share them. :)

Harrow, first of his name, King of Katolis could not find peace in what he believed would be his last moments.

Viren had finally left him alone. The man had slunk away like the dirty coward he was. Seething with rage over how his latest attempt to manipulate Harrow failed to work. Harrow found no victory in Viren’s humiliation. Only dissatisfaction and frustration. The same way he felt when they took down Thunder. There was no catharsis. Just a suspended moment to ask “what now?” as the crushing reality that his actions neither helped him move forward, nor benefitted anyone in the long run hit him hard.

Harrow sighed as he looked to Pip, who stared back, equally silent. Keeping him vigil, as if knowing that was what he needed most. The King’s eyes narrowed as he looked to the basket Viren left. His hand tightened around the frame of the picture he held, and he lifted it again to find Sarai staring back at him with their two boys. He smiled wistfully, a thumb gently resting over her cheek.

“I should have listened to you.” He almost wanted to laugh at himself for that. What good did it do now? “After all I know you‘ve been through...” His eyes glanced to the flickering candlelight and then to the window. “Nothing can change things now though. It seems I’ll be joining you soon.” One candle mark left until sundown.

Some found peace in death. Harrow could not forget how Kenjiro — Sir Ken as the common folk often called him — looked after a skirmish at the border ended in Xadia’s favour. Injured beyond help, Kenjiro slowly slipped from their fingers despite Viren’s attempts at reviving the old Knight. Yet, Sir Ken had the most serene and gentlest smile when he fell asleep for the very last time.

In hindsight, Harrow wondered how much Viren actually did to help. The Lord had little love for the old knight, even if said man was the father of the next Queen. Sarai and Harrow had been on the cusp of their thirties. Harrow hadn’t yet taken the crown but it was clear it was bound to happen soon, given his own father’s illness. So much so that everyone in the castle had been ordered by the infirm King to follow Harrow while he “recovered”, but many, seeing the writing on the wall, referred to Harrow as the prince to his face, and the king outside the castle walls. 

Sarai had already been both a mother and a widow. Her husband had served alongside her father, Sir Ken, and died after an exploration mission for some magical supplies that had went wrong two years before. She was grieving someone she loved so dearly and she felt guilty for being in love with Harrow and finding happiness with him. Harrow remembered Sarai finding it as much of a tumultuous time as he did. 

Viren called the incident that killed Sarai’s husband unfortunate. Opelei questioned if it had even been necessary or if the man’s death was senseless in the end. Kenjiro blamed himself for the loss of his son-in-law and the event that left his grandson fatherless. Callum himself wondered if Sarai was trying to replace the Dad he loved with Harrow. He was so young back then. Death was hard to explain to one so small.

What Harrow remembered most was that it was a time of rapid change for them all.

Sir Ken was seeing the end of his fifties back then. He would be the first to tell you he was no longer a sprightly knight convinced of his invincibility. Kenjiro would insist he was far more cautious than daring now, even as he beat all who challenged him nearly effortlessly, even when they ganged up on him. Harrow always doubled down on his belief in Sir Ken. The young not quite king noted that what Kenjiro couldn’t bring in youthful vitality he brought in hard earned experience. 

Viren, however, was Harrow’s contrarian. The young Lord insisted that injuries added up, famous names made targets and knowledge that wasn’t passed down to a successor was doomed to be lost. Viren argued that may have been better for Kenjiro to retire and pass on the mantle of the Border Guard to his youngest, Amaya, staying on in the background to help her grow into the role. Harrow adamantly refused. Kenjiro was tried, trusted, and most of all, undefeated. Perhaps in his youthfulness, Harrow wanted to believe that alone made the knight untouchable. 

After seeing Sarai’s grief for her former husband, he couldn’t bear the thought of having Amaya, who herself admitted she felt too inexperienced for the task, take over before she was ready. Though to be honest, Harrow wasn’t sure how much his desire to protect Amaya like this was motivated by watching Sarai’s grief and how much of it was his own. If Sarai’s father was undefeated and untouchable, then perhaps his own father would return from the brink of death? He and Sarai married. When they found out they were about to have a child, Harrow’s father had already fallen into a deep slumber just ten days before. Though the King still breathed, he had yet to open his eyes again.

Regardless of his reasons when he argued with Viren on this — rather tactlessly in front of the man in question — Kenjiro would always shrug and say the same thing in response Viren’s barbed words and Harrow’s pushback. 

“With all due respect, my young Lord Viren, I truly do not think it is in the place of a Court Mage, who has rarely seen frontline battle if I may add, to say where a warrior is best needed.” Then, as Viren predictably seethed at his words, Kenjiro would bow and tell Harrow. “I am a Servant of Katolis, first and foremost, Your Majesty. Where the King says I am needed, I will go, without hesitation.”

Kenjiro’s death was another vicious blow, yet Sarai had not an ounce of vengeance in her. Only more grief. Enough that Harrow sometimes wondered if it would swallow her whole. It hadn’t been long since she lost her first husband either, and yet where she could have remained stuck, could have vibrated with hatred she simply moved on and moved forward. She sought love instead of anger

“We have made them hurt too, Harrow.” She would explain whenever he asked her why she wasn’t angrier. “And they had dreams, and hopes. We took those away.”

“But aren’t you upset about what you lost?”

Sarai gave him a smile then. A sad, wistful thing. “Of course I am.” She sighed, refusing to let herself meet his eyes. “But if we avenge them for taking my father, then will their kids seek vengeance on us?”

“Perhaps. But if we make the power of Katolis clear to them~”

“No, Harrow.” Sarai interrupted. “Fear will only work for so long.” Her eyes were hard and focused. “When it stops working, they will lash out.” Sarai sighed. “once they do, they could very well seek to even the score.”

“Maybe.” Harrow wasn’t fully convinced.

“If they do, what will happen to our kids? When does it stop, Harrow? Does it ever?”

“I…”

“It’s not easy losing a parent,” Sarai sighed as her cheeks flushed, “and it wasn’t easy being such a young widow.” Her voice nearly broke. “But Harrow, killing in return only puts that fate onto someone else. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” Sarai sighed again. “Besides. Dad died…” she paused, wincing. “happy.”

“Happy, huh?” Harrow had tilted his head, confused.

“He died with a smile. Because he had no regrets. He spent his last moments saving the men who served under him and protecting our home. And maybe no one’s life ever ends up the way they expected, but I...would like that for myself.” Sarai’s eyes skittishly darted away with that admission and Harrow reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “For you too.” Her voice was thick, and judging by how she kept her head bowed, she was holding back tears. “After all, we’re all going to die someday, right?”

Harrow felt a sharp pain in his ankle. He heard a hiss, but before he could bother with what it was, the candle went out, there was shouting and commotion outside, and then, barely visible, a figure in the shadow. 

He felt weak. He didn’t bother to stand. The picture he held fell back to the bed, slipping from his suddenly shaky, twitching fingers. He could feel eyes staring at him now. Sizing him up within the darkness. Pausing when they realized Harrow wouldn’t even lift a finger to defend himself.

Finally he heard it. A soft voice from a man only a little younger than himself.

“Do you have any last words, Harrow, King of Katolis?”

A sharp pain. Harrow tried to smile, but it crumpled away as a tear escaped his eye.

“You’re like me, aren’t you?” He aske d the shadow. There was something, a hesitation to answer and finally, a rasp of anger.

“I do this for my people and the Dragon Queen, human, not for my pleasure or power like you do.” Harrow bit back a laugh at that irony. Still the smile flitted to his face and he sensed an anger as the blade in his chest was driven deeper,

“When your time comes,” he took a breath and it rattled in his chest, “I hope you die happy.”


	2. Avizandum: Thunderous King, Protective Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avizandum wonders if there are things more dear than duty.

Nothing about having children was easy for a Storm Dragon. Elves who were less gifted in the magical arts and instead taken to studying the way the world worked said it was something called conservation: Both Elves and Dragons were incredibly long lived. At least by human standards. Humans were lucky to see half a century where a dragon reaching ten thousand years was, while nothing to blink at, didn’t exactly turn heads. That meant having lots of children could be detrimental. It could cause what some of them called a shortage of resources. A competition due to scarcity.

Avizandum never cared about the finer details. He hoped for at least two eggs in his lifetime. He had a little brother once, and he wanted to believe it made him kinder. Gentler. Stronger since he grew up with something to protect. The sort of mate that attracted the power and grace of a dragon like Zubeia. Besides, one heir was always a dangerous prospect, especially with how bold humans were becoming now. Just the other day they had the audacity to kill an innocent magma titan, and for what?

He killed three queens that day in the blink of an eye. The elves told him who they were, and he cared not a whit about the details. They were trespassers. Interlopers who came to covet that which wasn’t theirs, and to make it worse, it was an innocent life they sought. It wasn’t until his mate, looking pensive, asked one question that he couldn’t shake, that he began to reconsider his position on the issue.

“Were they mothers?” Zubeia asked softly one day. Avizandum stared at her in confusion, and his Queen only sighed. “The human Queens you killed, Avizandum.”

“The ones I defended our lands from?” Avizandum caught the tension Zubeia’s held in her body and it was even more baffling.

“Ibis…” Zubeia watched the elf stand before them, ready and waiting, “were those human Queens that died that day, were they mothers themselves?”

“Yes they were, my Queen.” Ibis informed.  
“How truly regretful.”

“Why does it matter?” Avizandum asked his mate, testy.  
Zubeia’s blue eyes seemed impossibly deep. “To lose a parent, so young…”

“If those humans never trespassed, they would have been able to raise their young and watch them grow.” Avizandum shone his teeth. “They placed their selfishness over that of their children. I don’t pity the humans who died that day.”

“I don’t feel pity for the dead, Zan. I feel sad for the ones who are still living and will need to go on with such grief in their hearts.” Zubeia’s gaze stared off into nothingness for a moment. “Regardless of our reasons, Avizandum, it is the young innocent humans who lose the most.”

Zubeia’s labour pains were dangerous to her and egg alike, and when what he thought was the worst of it, was over — finally over, he lingered close. His mate was too exhausted from her effort to lay one of the few eggs she would ever have in her lifetime to look after herself. It left him anxious. King he may be, but Avizandum in this moment was just another dragon minding after his mate when she was physically at her weakest. Turning thoughts over in his head that before her, he perhaps would have never even considered had it not been for Zubeia.

He hadn’t been to the border in days. He was neglecting his duty, but at the same time, perhaps some things were just more precious, more important. He watched fondly as Zubeia nuzzled their precious egg, murmuring a name they had chosen so carefully. Azymondias. Like it was a prayer, a prediction of a great and powerful storm as menacing and giving as his father. He made a click in his throat, pleased by the sight. When she finally had enough strength to spread her wings and head out for a short hunt, she seemed unusually hesitant.

“It’s our Baby. I shouldn’t be leaving.”  
He nuzzled her. “You’ve been holed up here for a long time. Go. Find a storm. Let it bring your strength back.”  
“But what if something happens?”

Avizandum’s laugh was impossibly deep. “I am the strongest in all of the land. Do you truly think I would let anything happen?” That was enough to convince her, and with Zubeia gone he thought, perhaps for a moment, he could lay here, rest.

Alas, but it was not meant to be.

“Your grace,” Ibis always spoke with such a pinched voice when he had bad news to share. Avizandum grunted an acknowledgement and he continued. “There are humans. They approach the Storm Spire.”

His yellow eyes grew wide with fury and an inkling of...what he wondered was fear. He turned to their egg.

“I’ll return soon. The Dragon Guard is here to protect you, little one.”

If only he knew those would be his last words to his family. He would have said more. Perhaps he would remind Zubeia of how much he loved her before she headed out to hunt. Perhaps he would have curled up beside their egg a little while longer.

Regardless, he saw two men from Katolis as he swooped down. One bared a crown of uneven towers just like that of one of the women he had killed so many years ago. One of the mothers. He found himself hesitating. The young. Surely this was their father, no? What was he doing here? There were just two of them.

“Leave!” He bellowed, as rumbling as the thunder they named him after. “Today, of all days, I will spare you. But you must turn around and leave Xadia. Now.”

Avizandum saw the man tighten his grip on the spear he carried, scowling. “No.”

“Today is a special day,” he made his voice lighter, “a day of life.” The human seemed unmoved at that admission, at his reasoning. Avizandum drew himself to his full height, squaring his shoulders. “Do not force me to make it a day of death. This is your last chance. Leave or die!” 

“You never gave her that choice.” It was such a quiet comment, but Avizandum could hear the threat in those words. He raised his claw to cut the man down, but the second one was a mage. A great force kept him from bringing down his forelegs, and then he felt something slip between his scales.

He would have ignored it. Humans have gotten lucky before. A spear or two was nothing unusual. They were like needles. More annoying than dangerous.

But this? This was different. He could feel his blood run colder than ice, and that was when he knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“What is this?”

Something told him it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was getting back. He forgot about the humans then. Forgot about his duty to the border. They could wait. He needed to get back. His legs felt so heavy. His wings flapped hard but then they began to freeze into solid stone. He didn’t even feel one of them break off. He crashed into the ground but instead of pain, he felt that sinking sensation again.

Fear. 

He crawled, too consumed with this desperation to care about how his limbs were freezing into stone. He felt his arm break clean off and that was when he knew it for certain. He wasn’t just going to die. He was going to die here, in front of these humans. Away from his loved ones.

With his one remaining arm he reached towards the spire. He saw it freeze into stone as well, felt the stone as it reached up past his neck, towards his head.

‘I’m sorry, Azymondias.’

He felt his heart still, and then there was only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes this little examination. I have a couple of more, and then there are some I have thought but not put to word yet. Depending on whether people are into this maybe some of those ones that have yet to be written will find their words. Let me know.


End file.
